


Host

by frumplebump



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Angstshipping - Freeform, Anxiety, Depression, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Canon, Profanity, Thiefshipping (past), minor alcohol use, obligatory cream puffs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-10
Updated: 2015-10-10
Packaged: 2018-04-25 16:01:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4967278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frumplebump/pseuds/frumplebump
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryou offers Malik a place in his home and his life; angst ensues.</p><p>Takes place a few years after the final arc of the anime/manga.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Ryou’s phone buzzed, announcing the arrival of an email. He glanced down at the screen, expecting to see an ad, and raised an eyebrow when he saw that the sender was Yugi Mutou. It had been months since they’d seen each other. He opened up the email and was even more surprised when he noticed there was another recipient: Malik Ishtar.

 _Hello, Bakura-kun, I hope you’re doing well!_ Yugi wrote. _I’ve been emailing with Malik (see below) because he’s coming to Domino City soon. I thought you might like to know, and Malik said it would be nice to see you when he’s here so I’m putting you two in touch._

Ryou set the phone face down on the table and stared blankly at his half-eaten dinner. Malik was coming here? And he wanted to see him? He felt like they barely knew each other.

His phone vibrated again, and he turned it over to see another email arrive from Yugi, addressed only to him this time.

_Bakura-kun, you probably saw the email I sent you about Malik. I hope it’s okay with you that I gave him your email address. I guess I should have asked you first - maybe you don’t want to remember any of that time. But Malik is a good person and I think he just wants to be friends, and since he’ll be at the museum I thought you guys might as well be in touch. Let’s get together soon! I’m sorry it’s been so long!_

He’ll be at the museum? Ryou blinked, and re-opened the first email, thumbing to the bottom of the long string of conversation between Malik and Yugi.

 _Hello Yugi_ , Malik had begun, a couple of weeks ago, _I hope I can still reach you at this address. It’s been a while since we’ve seen each other_ … There were a few lines of general updates that Ryou tried not to read too closely, since he felt a bit strange about having been included in this conversation after the fact.

 _Anyway_ , the email continued, _I’ve actually been thinking that it could be good for me to get out of Egypt for a while, and Domino City is the only other place I’ve really been, so… I guess this is your warning that I might be showing up on your doorstep._

Ryou frowned slightly. Malik didn’t offer specifics on what he’d been up to, or give any particular reason for wanting to leave Egypt. He wrote with a light tone, but… He shook his head. He didn’t know Malik well enough to be making assumptions from one email that wasn’t even addressed to him.

He scrolled up through the subsequent messages. _Ishizu has talked to some of her contacts at the Domino City museum_ , Malik wrote in a more recent email. _She says they could make a temporary position available for me, translating the texts in their collection. Sounds easy enough. And no, Ishizu and Rishid won’t be coming with me. They’re busy with their own lives and besides, I feel like it’s time for me to finally do something on my own. It makes Rishid nervous, but he shouldn’t have to spend his whole life looking after me._

Ryou skimmed some more, until his own name popped out at him.

 _Is Ryou Bakura still living in Domino City?_ Malik asked. _I feel bad that I never really got to know him - you know what I mean - and it might be nice to try to fix that, if you think he’d be interested. I understand if he would want to keep his distance, though._

Yugi had delightedly informed Malik that Bakura-kun was indeed still in Domino City and in fact, he was employed as a librarian at the museum, so they’d probably be working together at some point! And that was when he had looped Ryou into the conversation.

And there he was, still sitting at the table, with his unfinished dinner going cold. He realized he wasn’t hungry anymore, so he distracted himself by cleaning the dishes.

As he ran a bath, he tried to ask himself why this was so unsettling. The water was hotter than he’d wanted it, but he barely noticed as he slipped into the tub, still rereading in his mind the emails Yugi had dumped on him.

Did he want to see Malik again? That was the critical question here, so why couldn’t he answer it?

His gaze wandered to the scar on his left arm; he touched it with the fingertips of his other hand. It was intimately familiar to him, the long, raised line and the slight pucker in the skin around it, yet he still didn’t even know exactly how he’d gotten it. The spirit of the Ring was responsible, he knew that, and it was something to do with his pact with Malik…

He sighed, leaning back in the tub. The spirit had left him with scars on his body and holes in his memory and enough questions for a lifetime. Ever since the Ring's destruction, Ryou had pursued an urge to clean up the debris left behind—to mend his friendships, figure out what had happened to his body in the time he lost, separate his own life from the one the spirit had forced him to lead. Malik probably knew the spirit better than anyone still alive besides Ryou, so maybe his urge to see him and talk to him made sense.

But on the other hand… if he didn’t know better, Ryou could almost believe that some shard of the spirit was still embedded in him, surging awake at the thought of Malik. Yugi had told him that Malik and the spirit formed an alliance during Battle City, but Ryou knew it was something more than that. He had spent most of those weeks drifting on the fringes of existence, but he hadn’t been completely lost to the world; he still remembered the way the spirit resonated in their shared body when Malik was around, deep and different enough to nudge Ryou’s sleeping soul.

The hot water was starting to make him flushed and dizzy, so he got out and toweled off unsteadily. At least the bath left him sleepy enough that he could override his racing thoughts—it still felt like a victory every time that happened—and shut down for the night.

 

 

When his alarm went off the next morning, he couldn’t remember why a little ball of anxiety was nestled in his stomach. Then he glanced at his phone. The anxiety jumped into his throat when he turned on the screen and saw that he had a new message, from Malik Ishtar.

_Hi Bakura. I guess the emails Yugi forwarded pretty much cover things but anyway… Let me know if you want to get together when I’m there. Or if you don’t. I’ll understand. I look forward to working with you at the museum, in any case._

Ryou realized he was chewing on his fingernail, and forced himself to stop. There was no reason to get worked up over a simple email from an acquaintance who was about to become a colleague. This was just normal… networking.

 _It’s good to hear from you, Malik-kun_ , he typed back. _I’m glad Yugi put us in touch. I’m looking forward to seeing you when you get to Domino City_. Ryou frowned. His choppy sentences sounded so stilted and formal, Malik would probably think that he was trying to keep his distance.

 _Where are you staying?_ he added, trying to sound more friendly. Then, before he could reconsider, he signed his name and sent the email.

In the time it took him to get dressed and brush his teeth, Malik wrote a response. Ryou almost dropped his phone when he saw the notification. He thought it must be the middle of the night in Egypt… well, maybe not that late, but still. He hadn’t been counting on starting a pseudo-conversation with Malik right now.

 _Hi Bakura - Ha, that’s an awkward question…_ Malik wrote. _I don’t actually know where I’m staying yet. I’m having a harder time than I expected finding a place to rent so I was thinking I’d just stay in a hostel for a little bit until I figure things out. Of course Ishizu is annoyed and Rishid is worried but I don’t think it’s such a big deal. Let me know if you’ve got any leads though, okay? PS. You can just call me Malik._

Ryou sat on the edge of his bed for a long time, writing and deleting sentences, until he was thoroughly late for work. Then he typed hastily, _Why don’t you just stay with me for a while? I live close to the museum so it would be convenient for you. And I’ve got enough space. This place is too big for just me._

He bit his lip and deleted the last sentence. _And I’ve got enough space. Maybe your brother and sister would worry less if you were staying with someone they know._

Ryou dashed through his apartment, then paused on his doorstep, one arm in his jacket, to finish the email: _PS. You can just call me Ryou._

He kept his phone on silent all morning. At lunch, he forced himself to eat before opening up his email, and was annoyed at his pang of disappointment when there was no reply yet. Working alone in the stacks that afternoon, his anxiety swelled with every quiet moment until he was sure that he had offended Malik, confused him with his offer, or made a complete fool of himself, or maybe—probably—all three.

He almost cried with relief on the subway home when he checked his email and saw a message from Malik that began, _Hi Ryou -_

_Thank you so much for being so generous. I feel like I’m completely imposing on you but - if you’re still willing, I really would be grateful to stay at your place for a little bit. I promise I’ll keep out of your way and get my own apartment as soon as I can._

There was a bit more, giving specifics about when he was arriving, but Ryou barely looked at the rest. His eyes kept returning to the top of the email, reading over and over “Hi Ryou - thank you…”

 

 

Malik hadn’t changed much from Ryou’s memory of him. The angles of his face were a little sharper, more mature, but he still had his long hair and gold earrings and the dashes of kohl below his eyes. If anything, he looked more exotic here, in the Domino City airport; the last time Ryou saw him had been during the Pharaoh’s ceremonial duel, when the air was heavy with desert heat and ancient ritual, and Malik had been a natural part of it.

Ryou hung back as Yugi, then Honda and Anzu and Jounouchi, greeted Malik, waiting his turn to offer a quiet hello. Malik smiled as he met his eyes, and told him, “It’s good to see you, Ryou. Thank you again for letting me stay with you.”

As the six of them rode the train back into the city, Ryou watched quiet and a little envious as Malik slipped easily into their conversation. There was a lot to catch up on, and no pause in the torrent of words until they were finishing a late dinner at a noodle place near Ryou’s apartment. As they made it to the bottom of their beer glasses, Ryou noticed Malik growing quieter, a pronounced heaviness in his eyes.

“You must be tired, Malik,” Ryou said.

“I think I’ve been awake for two days,” Malik admitted with a weak laugh.

They retrieved Malik’s bags from the coin locker at the train station, then Ryou urged the others to head home, and not trouble themselves with walking to his apartment just to come right back to the station. After a token resistance, Yugi and the others agreed, and they waved goodbye to Malik and Ryou as the two of them walked out of the station into the suddenly quiet night.

“Can I carry one of your bags?” Ryou asked.

“I’m okay, thanks.”

“Are you sure? It’s no trouble.” He didn’t want to seem less polite than any of their other friends.

Malik hesitated, then smiled and shrugged off his backpack. “If you insist.”

Silence settled between them as Ryou led the way to his apartment building. It wasn’t awkward, necessarily—Ryou guessed that if Malik were less exhausted, he would come up with enough to chat about—but he hoped that Malik wouldn’t think his own silence meant he was regretting his invitation.

Ryou unlocked the door of his apartment and led the way in, pausing to take off his shoes. Malik did too, and Ryou shyly wondered whether that was a custom in Egypt too or if he was just politely following his lead. A normal, friendly person like Yugi would probably have just asked, but—

“Wow!” Malik exclaimed as Ryou switched on the lights. “It’s big! And really clean.”

Ryou shrugged. “It makes me feel better, having a clean space.”

“I’ll try not to make a mess, then.”

“No—I mean—” he stammered. “Please, make yourself at home.”

Malik smiled at him. “Thank you again for letting me invade your space like this. It’s really—”

“No, it’s fine, I’m happy to—”

“—it’s really more than I deserve,” Malik continued. His eyes, as he studied Ryou’s face, were solemn and almost cautious; Ryou didn’t know how to respond to that, so he dealt with it by pointing out the extra key on the wall and the stove burner that didn’t work well and where he kept the towels. Then he led him to the spare room.

“This is for you,” Ryou said. “The futon is here—I only have the one bed, in my room, but I hope this will be comfortable enough—you know how to make up a futon, right?”

“Ah…” Malik said sheepishly, rubbing a hand through his hair.

“I’ll show you, it’s really simple,” Ryou said, feeling himself flush. “I’m sorry, I should have realized…”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” Malik said, as he watched Ryou. “I mean, I lived in a _tomb_ for most of my life, I can figure out how to sleep pretty much anywhere.”

Ryou laughed a little as he stood up, hoping his face didn’t look as red as it felt.

“Are you okay?” Malik asked. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“No!” he protested. “No, it’s not you, I’m just… I’m not much of a host.”

Malik tipped his head to one side and looked like he was about to say something, then his expression changed and he smothered a yawn. “This is all really generous, Ryou,” he said. “And now I’m going to pass out for the next three days.”

“Oh! Yes, I’m sorry, I won’t keep you up. But let me know if you need anything. I’m just down the hall.”

They exchanged “good nights” and Ryou retreated, climbing into bed and burying himself under the duvet until he couldn’t hear the muffled sound of Malik moving about in the other room.

 

 

Ryou spent the morning in his room with a book, reading the same paragraph over and over as he listened for Malik to wake up. It was past eleven by the time he heard running water in the bathroom, and crept into the kitchen to turn on the electric kettle.

“Morning,” Malik yawned. “If it is still morning?”

Ryou turned to tell him it was, and then lost his words upon discovering that Malik apparently slept in nothing but his boxers and had no compunctions about wandering around in that state. He couldn’t stop his eyes from skating up his torso, feeling himself flush. “Um,” he said. “Yeah, it’s morning—did you sleep okay? Do you want tea?”

“Sure, thanks,” Malik said. He sat at the table and brushed his hair back from his face with both hands, still looking exhausted. He’d washed the kohl from his eyes and wasn’t wearing his earrings, and Ryou thought he looked surprisingly young and exposed like this. As he set two mugs of tea on the table and sat down across from Malik, he studied him surreptitiously. It was hard to fit what he knew about Malik into the bleary-eyed person leaning on his kitchen table with a sheet mark still on his cheek.

“So, you really live alone in a big place like this?” Malik remarked. “If you don’t mind my saying, it doesn’t seem like the museum would pay you _that_ well…”

“Oh, it doesn’t,” Ryou laughed. “My dad helps me with the rent. He usually stays here when he’s in town.”

“Will he mind me living here for a while?”

“I think he’ll just be glad the space is getting used. He’s on a fellowship in America for the next couple of years, he doesn’t have plans to be back here any time soon.” Ryou toyed with his tea bag.

“You get lonely?” Malik asked.

Ryou shrugged. “I don’t mind being alone.” He glanced at Malik, trying to guess whether he noticed that Ryou had both lied and not answered the question.

“You know,” Malik said, “I was a little surprised when you offered to let me stay here. Grateful, of course—but still. You always seemed like someone who preferred to keep to yourself.”

Ryou pondered this. “I do, sometimes, but… Back then, it just felt safer not to get too close to anyone.”

“Back then… when you were Bakura’s host?”

He stifled a flash of irritation. “That is _my_ name,” he said.

“It was his name, too.” Malik was looking at him steadily, but his expression softened a little when Ryou met his eyes. “I’m sorry,” Malik said. “That was unfair of me.”

Ryou shrugged. “Anyway, I invited you to stay here because I wanted to help you out. And I thought it might be nice to have a roommate for a while.”

“Well, I’ll try not to be a disappointment.”

“I’m sure you won’t be.” He hoped he wasn’t visibly blushing as he thought of all the ways that Malik physically, at least, was the farthest thing from a disappointing addition to his home.

 

 

Malik slipped into the vacant spaces of his life with an ease and gentleness that surprised Ryou; he hadn’t realized how much he was lacking. But now there was someone to drink tea with in the morning, to meet for lunch at work, to help wash the dishes after dinner and stare lazily at the tv with him in the evening. And the strangest thing was that it seemed profoundly normal. Sometimes, in that first week, he caught himself staring bewildered at Malik’s boots by the door or his kohl pot on the bathroom sink, but Malik’s presence soon started to feel comfortable, something Ryou not only wanted but could easily come to take for granted.

He brought new routines into Ryou’s life, too. One Saturday, early on, Ryou woke to the smell of fresh coffee and discovered that Malik had gone out to the cafe around the block.

“I got you a caramel latte—I wasn’t sure what you’d want but that sounded good to me,” Malik said.

“It’s my favorite,” Ryou told him, and after that it was a weekly ritual. It didn’t take Malik long to figure out his fondness for cream puffs, either; every so often he would present Ryou with a bag of them from the little shop in the train station.

There was more to do, more to see; Yugi and their friends were eager to invite Malik out for dinner or drinks or karaoke—often all three—and Ryou was expected to join in. It wasn’t his favorite way to spend an evening; over the past few years he’d declined enough invitations that they’d mostly stopped asking him out, because the noise and the crowds and his reticence made him miserable. But with Malik, none of that bothered him as much as it used to.

And sometimes there were quiet weekends, when they stayed inside all day and Ryou helped Malik in his self-assigned project of learning one hundred kanji every week and maybe he was imagining it but sometimes it seemed like Malik sat a little closer to him on the couch than was strictly necessary.

He wanted to believe he was imagining it, too, when the light that emanated from Malik started to dim. Bit by bit, he faded; he started getting to work late once or twice a week, leaving the tea Ryou made for him cooling untouched on the table. When he made his weekly phone calls to his sister, his voice sometimes seemed smaller, their conversations shorter. He begged off Yugi’s invitations half the time, and his enthusiasm for his kanji studies turned into frustration at his slow progress.

But he kept bringing his offerings of coffee and cream puffs, as if that would be enough to distract Ryou from the growing shadow.

“Malik, what’s wrong?” Ryou asked one Saturday morning, as they sat across the table from each other with their coffee and their silence.

“Nothing’s wrong.”

Ryou started to reach for Malik’s hand, faltered, let his arm drop awkwardly to the table. “If you just want to be left alone, that’s okay. But if there’s anything I can do… Or if it’s something I did…”

“No, it’s nothing you did.” Malik crossed his arms, staring vacantly down at his coffee. He was quiet for a long time; Ryou watched unreadable expressions chase each other across his face, until finally he scowled. “I really thought I could outrun it if I just went far enough.”

“Outrun what?” Ryou asked softly.

“Myself, I guess.” Malik spread his hands on the table, palm up, and stared at them. “That horrible evil thing in me that I can’t ever fucking get rid of, no matter what I try.”

“But I thought you did get rid of it,” Ryou said. “I thought when Battle City—”

“Okay, yes, my literal, other personality is gone, but did anyone really believe that I would just suddenly turn into a new person?” His hands clenched into fists. “ _I_ created my dark half. _I_ tried to destroy Yugi and his friends. All of that came out of me and all of it is still in me, and I’ve tried, I’ve fucking _tried_ to live a good life and I still can’t destroy it.”

“Malik… you’re not a bad person,” Ryou tried. “I don’t know that much about what you did before, but since you’ve been here, you’ve made my life better.”

“Well, I’m really glad that my feeling like a festering waste of space hasn’t had any negative impact on you.”

“No, I—” Ryou reached for him again, but Malik brought his hands up to his face, letting his head hang heavily.

“I’m sorry, Ryou,” Malik muttered.

“I didn’t realize you were feeling this awful,” Ryou said. He was stinging from Malik’s lash at him, but he understood that letting him see the pain would only aggravate him more. “I mean, I could tell that things were getting darker for you, but…”

“Darker, that’s a good word for it.” He sighed. “You know, for a little while after I got here, I really thought things were going to be different. The first week or two… but I guess that’s just how long it took to catch up with me. It always finds me.”

Ryou didn’t know what to say; he knew he had nothing to offer Malik that would fix this for him. All he could tell him was, “If you need help with this, I’m here.”

Malik contemplated him for a moment. Ryou could see the shadows growing in his eyes, and wasn’t sure he wanted to hear what Malik would say when he finally spoke again. “You know,” Malik said, “Ba—the spirit of the Ring was the only other one who looked at me like that.”

Ryou went cold. “Like what?”

“Like I wasn’t a threat. Like he could see all the way inside me to the worst part of me and knew he could handle it.” He gave a short, bitter laugh. “Except he couldn’t.”

“I’m not him.”

“No, you’re not.” Malik curled his fingers around his coffee cup and stared at Ryou, a tiny smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. Ryou couldn’t read that smile, or his tone; it might have been regret, mockery, relief, sarcasm, some ugly combination of all that and more.

“Ryou…” Malik’s voice had changed again, less bitter this time, more bruised. “During Battle City, when Bakura and I were… when we were together then, were you ever… there?”

“No, Malik, I was pretty much in a coma for most of Battle City,” Ryou said shortly. He pushed himself to his feet. “I’m going to the post office,” he lied, “do you need anything while I’m out?”

 

 

Malik presented his peace offering on Sunday afternoon: a bag of cream puffs, and a book Ryou had offered him to try to revive his interest in his kanji studies. It was one Ryou had had since middle school, an illustrated encyclopedia of _youkai_ with furigana spelling out the readings for most of the kanji. Stories about folkloric monsters weren’t exactly useful information, but Ryou thought the subject matter might pique Malik’s interest.

Malik settled on the couch across from Ryou, helping himself to a cream puff and then pushing the rest of the bag over to him. He opened the book and frowned at it.

“How far have you gotten in that?” Ryou asked around a mouthful of pastry.

“Um… page three.” Malik gave him an embarrassed smile. “I did look at all the pictures, though.”

Ryou chuckled.

Malik was silent a moment, then scooted over to Ryou’s end of the couch. “Want to help me?”

“Okay,” he said, putting down his own book. He hoped that this was one of Malik’s better days, that he would stay here with him all afternoon instead of getting annoyed with himself and retreating to his room.

“Show me your favorites,” Malik requested. “I’ll start with those.”

Ryou thumbed through the familiar pages of the book, showing Malik the illustrations he remembered most vividly: the corpse-white _yuki onna_ materializing out of a cold fog; the monstrous whale skeleton of the _bakekujira_ ; the _kuchisake onna_ with her bloody smile slashed into her cheeks.

“There is something wrong with you,” Malik told him with a grimace. “Show me something that’s not gruesome.”

Ryou smiled, and flipped to another page he remembered lingering over as a boy. “Okay, try this one.”

Malik propped the book on his stomach, studying the text. “ _Baku_ ,” he sounded out.

“Mhm.”

He peered more closely at the page. “This is the kanji in your name, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Is that why it’s your favorite?”

“You could say I’m biased.”

Malik grinned. “Okay, so what is this _baku_ thing?”

“Read it and find out!”

“Ugh,” Malik groaned, pushing his head back into the couch cushion.

Ryou laughed gently, and leaned over him to point at a character. “You know this one, right?” His heart squeezed a little as he watched Malik’s brow furrow.

“‘Dream,’” Malik said.

“Yes. The _baku_ eats bad dreams. Japanese kids, when they wake up from a nightmare, say, ‘ _Baku-san_ , come eat my dream.’”

“Well, that’s convenient.”

“But if the _baku_ is too hungry, it can eat all the good things you hoped for, too, and leave you empty.”

“That figures.” Malik’s mouth quirked. “Always a catch.” He settled himself deeper into the couch, propping his feet on the table, and went quiet as he concentrated on reading.

Ryou picked up his own book full of words that no longer meant anything. The only thing that had any meaning was Malik’s warm body breathing next to him, the way he chewed his lip as his eyes moved down the page, and his smile when he looked up to catch Ryou staring. “You okay?” he asked.

“Yes,” Ryou said, flushing. “Are you?”

“Yes.” Malik’s voice went soft, no longer playful. “Right now I am.”

“I’m so glad,” Ryou told him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to read about youkai too, try these websites: [Yokai.com](http://yokai.com/), [Hyakumonogatari Kaidankai](http://hyakumonogatari.com/)
> 
> For a nice analysis of the meaning of Bakura Ryou’s full name, [check this out](http://blades-of-revenge.tumblr.com/post/118412645721/the-meaning-behind-ryou-bakuras-name).


	2. Chapter 2

Ryou woke with the chill of sweat on his back and his heart convulsing in his throat. This wasn’t anything new—finding himself bolt upright in the dark, seething with panic, was something he’d learned to live with—but this time he couldn’t remember the nightmare that woke him, and that was unusual. Most of the time they were all too vivid.

Then he heard a moan from the room next to his, a low keen that rose into a sob, and he realized it wasn’t his own nightmare that had yanked him awake.

His limbs were paralyzed as he stared wide-eyed into the dark. Should he go to Malik, wake him up, risk embarrassing him? Ryou squeezed his eyes shut and tried to wait it out, until Malik’s cries started to sound like words. It wasn’t a language Ryou could understand, but he knew he was hearing him beg. And finally his legs remembered how to work, and his heart stopped hammering so violently, and he made his way in the dark to Malik’s room.

“Malik?” he whispered. There was no response, and no pause in the hitching sobs coming from Malik’s throat. Ryou crept over to the futon and knelt beside him; the light filtering in from the streetlamps was too dim to see clearly, but Ryou could tell he was face-down in the sheets, his hands over his head as if to ward off a blow.

“Malik,” he said again, and reached out for his shoulder, hesitating only once before making contact.

Malik jerked as if he’d struck him, but stopped crying, and Ryou saw the gleam of his eyes as they opened. “It’s okay,” Ryou whispered. “You were having a nightmare. It’s okay now.”

“Ryou?”

“Yeah, it’s me. I’m here.”

Malik curled up on his side, knocking his knees against Ryou’s leg. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I woke you up…”

“It’s okay,” Ryou said again. “Do you think you can go back to sleep?”

Malik rolled his shoulders in a weak shrug. “Sometimes I can, sometimes I can’t. Doesn’t matter.”

Ryou thought of all the times he had waited out the night in his empty apartment, telling himself he would be fine while he sat with tear tracks cooling on his face, wishing for a hand—any human hand—to wipe them away. “Do you want me to stay?” he asked Malik.

For a moment, there was no response, and Ryou wondered if he’d fallen asleep. Then, an almost imperceptible nod.

Ryou unfolded his legs from his crouched position, settling more comfortably on the side of Malik’s futon. After a minute, he dared to put a hand on Malik’s shoulder, letting his fingers run gently down the sweat-damp skin. They both flinched when his fingertips hit the first line of the scars on Malik’s back.

“I’m sorry,” Ryou whispered, pulling back.

“No, it’s okay. It… helps, actually,” Malik murmured.

Carefully, Ryou laid his palm flat over Malik’s shoulder blade. He rubbed his back, trying to smooth the tense muscle, trying not to imagine the blood and agony that must once have poured from those wounds. Malik loosened a little under his hand, like a stray cat responding to unexpected gentleness. Ryou felt his own consciousness melting as time unbound itself, and let himself lay down beside Malik; then they woke up face to face on the futon as Ryou’s phone alarm started to chime from the other bedroom.

 

 

They didn’t talk about it.

They didn’t talk about it even when it became another of the routines they shared. Ryou wanted it to be something Malik could take for granted, that on the bad nights Ryou would be there, that it wasn’t something he needed to ask for or repay.

As the nightmares pursued him and the darkness in him thickened, Malik started going for walks in the late evening, to clear his head, as he put it. The first time, Ryou tried to lend him his scarf, since it was starting to get cold, but Malik pretended not to hear. The third time, Ryou offered to go with him, and Malik said, “If you want,” in a way that clearly meant _please let me be_. The fifth time, Ryou told him, “You know, you can just stay here and drink, and save yourself the trouble.”

Malik paused with one boot on, a guilty flush coloring his cheekbones as he looked at Ryou. “I… thought it might bother you.”

“I think it bothers me more that you’re trying to push me away.”

“I’m not—” Malik started to retort, then cut himself off. He continued to hover by the door, one boot still in his hand.

“Well, you can do whatever you want,” Ryou said. “But it makes me so sad to see this happening to you.”

For a second, it seemed like Malik was about to give up, take his shoes back off and join Ryou on the couch. Then he snarled, “I’m fine,” and grabbed his keys from the wall.

He was out longer than usual; Ryou had gone to bed by the time he heard the door unlock. He assumed, from the stumbling and shuffling and then the silence, that Malik had made his way to his room and passed out on the futon, but he had barely fallen asleep again when he heard a coughing sob. Ryou frowned; drinking usually seemed to soothe Malik. Then he heard Malik come crashing back out of his room and into the bathroom to puke.

Ryou sighed and waited for a while, until he heard the toilet flush and water run in the sink, and then he got up to lean in his own doorway. When Malik finally crept out of the bathroom, rubbing at his face with one hand, Ryou said, “Come here.”

To his surprise, Malik obeyed. Ryou pulled him into his room and sat him down on the bed and switched on his bedside lamp, turning it towards the wall to shield Malik’s eyes from the glare. Then he settled beside Malik, who didn’t acknowledge him except to shift his weight as the mattress sank.

Malik’s kohl lines were blurred on his cheekbones by sweat and tear tracks and his own hands as he rubbed at his face; Ryou could see a smudge of black on his knuckle. He swallowed a sudden urge to wipe away the marks.

“Gods, I’m a fucking disaster,” Malik said, with a hoarse laugh. “I can’t believe you haven’t tossed me out on my ass yet.”

“You know I’m not going to do that,” Ryou told him.

“Why the hell not? I’m useless. I’m trash. I had one purpose and I served it and now I have nothing, nothing but these fucking scars and all the worst parts of me.” His hair fell forward over his eyes and he shoved it back roughly with both hands.

“But now you have your own life.”

Malik’s laugh was bitter and ugly. “Yeah, and look what a fucking great job I’m doing there. I don’t even know _how_ to be a normal person.” He turned, finally, to stare into Ryou’s eyes. “You know what’s even more fucked up? Sometimes I wish that the Pharaoh hadn’t destroyed my other personality.” His lips were pulled back over his teeth, and Ryou guessed that the frantic look in his eyes was supposed to be some kind of challenge. “Sometimes, I swear, I would give anything to just let a murderous psychopath take control of my life again.”

“Because he was your stronger half,” Ryou said quietly. “He dealt with the pain that was too much for you alone.”

Malik heaved a sigh. “You lost your other self, too. Didn’t you ever feel like something had been torn out of you?”

Involuntarily, Ryou’s fingers went to the five scars on his chest, where the Ring had marked him down to the bone. “I don’t think he was really my other self, but—yes. I hated him, and I wanted nothing more than to get him out of my mind, but then when he was gone, I felt so… exposed. Empty.”

“He was a part of you.”

“Yes.”

“The worst part of you.”

Ryou nodded.

“The most important part of you.”

He gazed at Malik for a moment before answering. “Not anymore.”

Malik tried to hide his gathering tears from Ryou, and Ryou pretended not to see. He put his hand on Malik’s spine and rubbed it, like this was any other nightmare, and felt the familiar softening of the muscles beneath his touch. Then he felt them shift as Malik turned to kiss him.

His fist clenched in Malik’s shirt, out of surprise and alarm but also out of a desperate attempt at self-control, because part of him wanted so badly to open his mouth to Malik, put his hands in his hair and pull him down on top of him, but Malik was drunk and broken and Ryou could never.

Malik's eyes opened, right in front of Ryou’s, and they stared at each other for a heartbeat before Malik pulled away.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” he said hoarsely. “Sorry.”

Ryou didn’t trust his voice to answer. His hand was still on Malik’s back and he could feel that he’d gone taut again, so he helplessly resumed his massage, and Malik let him.

A question quivered on his tongue, one that he’d imagined asking over and over but could barely put words to, even inside his own head. But right now, Malik was drunk and Ryou was exhausted, and he could pretend that none of this would be real in the morning. “Malik… were you and the spirit…?”

Malik looked sideways at him. “Were we what? Lovers?” He huffed a short laugh. “Are you really only just now figuring that out?”

“No, I…” Something sagged inside him. “I’ve known for a long time. I just wanted to hear it from you, I guess.”

“Well, then, yeah. We were. We fucked, a lot. Every chance we could get.” Malik let his words drop sharp and harsh; his eyes were feral as they traveled over Ryou’s body. He was trying to hurt him, Ryou understood that. “Does that bother you?” Malik’s lip twitched.

Ryou met his eyes. “Of all the things he did when he locked me away and stole my body, this is the only one I can say I don’t necessarily have a problem with.” His heart was slamming against his ribs, but he almost smiled when Malik’s mouth dropped open slightly.

“Huh,” Malik said. Ryou’s nerves were tingling as he waited for what Malik was going to say next, which turned out to be, “Shit, I’m really fucking tired.”

He sighed, feeling reality seep back into the room like a cold breeze. “Well, maybe we should go to sleep, then.”

Malik tipped himself onto his side and dragged his legs up on the bed. “Can I stay here?”

“Of course.” Ryou stood up. “I can take the other room.” He felt Malik’s hand catch the bottom of his t-shirt as he started to move away.

“Don’t be an idiot,” Malik muttered.

Ryou reached to turn off the lamp and then let Malik tug him back down to the bed. He got them both under the covers, Malik half-asleep already, and then stretched out along the edge of the mattress, prepared to cling there rigidly for the rest of the night.

Malik pressed his hand to Ryou’s back and rubbed it in small, gentle circles, the way Ryou did for him. Ryou let his body soften. “That really does feel good,” he whispered.

“Mhm.”

It wasn’t long before Malik’s hand dropped away and his breathing slowed. Ryou assumed that it was an unconscious gesture when Malik slung a heavy arm across his waist and tucked his forehead against Ryou’s shoulder, but then he heard him murmur, “‘Night, Ryou.”

“Sleep well, Malik,” he replied.

 

 

Ryou woke a few minutes before his alarm went off, and slithered out of the bed to avoid disturbing Malik. Not that it looked like much could disturb him right now; he was snoring softly into a puddle of drool on Ryou’s pillow, his limbs sprawled across most of the bed.

Ryou turned on the kettle and typed a message on his phone as he waited for the water to heat. He didn’t know Malik’s supervisor at the museum very well, but she seemed like a reasonably understanding person, so he sent her an email to say that Malik wasn’t feeling well—true enough—and couldn’t come to work.

Malik was still dead to the world by the time Ryou was ready to leave, so he scribbled a note to let him know that Takahashi-san wouldn’t be expecting him today. He propped the scrap of paper on the edge of the pillow, and pulled the tangled sheets back up over Malik’s naked back.

At the museum, Malik’s supervisor waved Ryou down in the hall as he was walking back from his lunch break. “Bakura-san, do you have a moment? There’s something I’d like to speak with you about.”

He followed Takahashi-san to her desk, where she leaned with her arms crossed, appraising him for a moment. “Malik Ishtar is living with you, isn’t that right? He’s a friend of yours?”

“Yes.”

She frowned slightly. “Well, I should tell you that I’m concerned about him. Lately he has not been performing his job at the standard I’d expect, especially from Ishizu Ishtar’s brother. He seems competent enough, but I think he’s… troubled.” She raised an eyebrow at him, waiting for his interpretation.

“Yes,” Ryou said quietly. “He is struggling, with a lot of things.”

“I’m sympathetic to that, of course, but if he’s going to remain an employee of the museum, he needs to pull himself together. At this rate, I won’t be able to justify renewing his contract at the end of the year.”

“I understand,” Ryou said. “I can try to talk to him about it.”

“I’ve already talked to him,” said Takahashi-san. “I just wanted to make you aware of it, as a friend of his. I’m planning to inform his sister as well, if things don’t improve soon.”

Ryou spent the rest of the afternoon pulling books in the library as Takahashi-san’s words looped endlessly through his brain. His hands worked autonomously as his mind scrambled for something, anything he could offer that might be enough to stop Malik’s collapse.

Malik was on the couch when Ryou got home, a blanket pulled over his legs and a cup of tea in his hands. “Welcome home,” he said, with a weak smile.

“How are you feeling?” Ryou asked, slipping off his shoes and walking over to the couch.

Malik shifted his legs to make a place for Ryou to sit. “I’ve felt better.”

Ryou half-smiled. “Still hung over?”

“Among other things.” Malik was staring into his tea; it looked like he hadn’t actually drunk any of it.

“You know, Takahashi-san talked to me today.”

“Oh?”

“About you.”

“Hm.”

“I didn’t know things were going so badly for you at work.”

Malik lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “I guess it’s not something you need to be concerned with.”

“Why shouldn’t I be? You’re my friend, that’s why Takahashi-san approached me about it.”

Malik sipped his tea and said nothing.

“Malik, I… I know I’ve told you this over and over but I hate seeing you like this. And I’m sorry that coming to Japan hasn’t helped you with whatever you were hoping it would. And—” Ryou paused, swallowed. “I feel terrible that maybe being here with me is just making it all worse for you, but please, if there’s anything I can do to help you deal with this, please—”

“This was all a mistake.”

“Malik…”

“I shouldn’t have come here. I was an idiot to think I could ever get away from myself. And I was an idiot to think maybe I’d find something of Bakura still in you.”

Ryou knew Malik was trying to punish them both by wounding him, but now, finally, he was too worn down to control the hot flare of his anger. “I told you, that’s my name,” he said, feeling his jaw clench. “This is _my_ body. He was nothing without me.”

“That’s the most you’ve ever looked like him, just now.”

Ryou stood up. He went into his bedroom and closed the door quietly—he wasn’t a child having a tantrum, after all—and sat on his unmade bed and stared at the ceiling. Then, silently, he let the tears of rage and grief run down his face.

The worm of doubt that had been curled for months in the back of his mind wriggled again, and this time Ryou let it emerge. Why did Malik Ishtar matter so much to him? Was it really Ryou that was attracted to him? Or had the impulses and desires of the spirit plunged so deep that they’d infected his own brain? Or—he blushed—was it just a physical memory, his body yearning for a body it knew, even if his mind had never been present?

After all, Malik had been as prickly and unpredictable as a half-feral cat, warming to his attention only to swipe at him with claws bared a second later. What could Ryou really even point to and say, “This, this is the reason I put up with him, this is why I care about him?”

What—besides the way Malik looked in the morning, when his kohl was gone and his eyes were soft with sleep and the early sun caught the vulnerable creature hiding inside him.

And besides the way he rolled his earring between his fingers as he talked on the phone with his sister, and how his voice went soft and fluid when he spoke Arabic to her.

And besides the caramel lattes he bought for Ryou every Saturday morning.

And how, on his good days, he couldn’t stop talking about the texts he was translating at work, spending their lunch break waving his hands in the air and then shoveling down his bento in a matter of minutes, still talking around mouthfuls of rice.

And how he laughed at himself those times that they went to karaoke with Yugi and their friends and he didn’t know any of the songs but downed a few drinks and gave it his best shot.

And that afternoon on the couch with the cream puffs and the book of _youkai_ and the little frown that creased his forehead as he struggled with Ryou’s native language; and the night that Ryou woke him from one of his nightmares and he whispered ‘ _Baku-san_...’ and attempted an embarrassed smile.

And the way his body felt when Ryou sat with him in the dark, when his skin was cold and his muscles pulled tight but he pressed his scarred back into Ryou’s touch and let him soothe him back to sleep.

And besides a hundred other things that had nothing to do with the spirit, that were only Ryou’s, all his own.

The tears were still coming, hot on his cheeks.

There was a knock on his door. “Ryou…”

He wiped his face. “What?”

“Can I come in?”

“Yeah.”

Malik opened the door a little and slipped inside as if he was approaching a frightened animal. He closed the door and leaned against it, sealing them in the semi-dark of Ryou’s unlit room.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m such a complete asshole.”

Ryou shrugged, keeping his face turned away from him. He heard Malik come over to the bed, then felt it sink a little as he perched on the far corner.

“I shouldn’t have said that, about the spirit. I didn’t mean it.”

Ryou hugged his legs to his chest and rested his cheek on his knees, looking at Malik. He didn’t care if Malik could see how swollen and red his eyes must be. “Then why did you say it?” he whispered.

Malik shrugged miserably. “I knew how much it would hurt you. I told you that’s how I am—I get so angry at myself and it hurts so much and then I have to push it onto someone else. I’m… gods, I’m a fucking monster.”

“Is it true, though?” Ryou asked, hearing the quaver in his own voice. “Did you come here, and stay here, because of how you felt about him?”

Malik was silent for so long that Ryou began to think he wasn’t going to attempt an answer. “I don’t know,” he finally said, with an unsteady sigh. “Maybe, when I first started thinking about coming to Japan, I wanted to pretend that somehow a part of him would still be here. And maybe for a while it was hard for me to look at you and not want to see him. But, gods, that’s not why I’m still here—even I’m not that stupid. I know he’s gone. I know you’re not him. Ryou, you’re a thousand times better than him and I don’t deserve you at all, I really don’t.”

Ryou’s throat felt too tight to speak.

“I’ve been thinking…” Malik continued. “Maybe it’s time for me to go home.”

“What? Why?” was all he could say, even though he wanted to grab Malik’s wrists and beg him to change his mind, to tell him that the only thing that would hurt worse than the things he’d said to him would be not having him around at all.

Malik shook his head. “How can I stay here, when all I’m doing is disappointing and upsetting everyone around me? I can do that just as well in Luxor where I belong, and stop making your life miserable.”

“I don’t want you to go.”

“Shouldn’t you be objecting the least of anyone? You’ve played host to enough crazy motherfuckers, Ryou.”

“Malik, I care about you,” Ryou said. “I really like you. I still just want to help you.” He reached for Malik’s hand.

“I…” Malik’s fingers curled around Ryou’s, but he said, “I already have my ticket home.”

“Oh.”

“Ishizu booked it. When I mentioned to her that I was thinking about leaving, she took things into her own hands. Probably for the best.”

“When are you leaving?”

“Week from Friday.”

“Oh.”


	3. Chapter 3

Ryou knew that when you lost a person, it was the details, too small to notice on ordinary days, that sowed a minefield of bitter memories. Over the next ten days, he tried to root out the little treacherous things, say goodbye to them, and push them out of his mind, so that when Malik was really gone, he might have a chance of moving on with his own life.

And he undid all his work when, two nights before he was supposed to leave, Malik was on the couch at midnight with bloodshot eyes, claiming he couldn’t sleep. Ryou held out his hand to him. “Try my bed.”

Malik let him pull him to his feet, then followed Ryou through the darkened apartment. They crawled under the sheets together, not touching, as far apart as the bed could accommodate, and Ryou stared through the darkness at the faint slope of Malik’s shoulder and ached.

Then Malik rolled over, face to face with him, and fumbled for his hand. Ryou squeezed his fingers around Malik’s as he felt them interlace. “Do you really have to leave?” he whispered.

“Do you really want me to stay?”

Ryou shifted, bumped foreheads, bumped noses, found Malik’s mouth and felt him kiss back, gentle but immediate. He was going to regret all of this, he knew that, but it wasn’t like he had anything to lose now.

He let go of his fingers to rest his hand on Malik’s waist, then slid his palm over the scars, up his shoulder, his neck, into his hair. Malik rolled into his touch and then they were both moving, pulling their bodies together with hands and arms and legs. Malik ran cold fingertips under Ryou’s shirt and up his ribs; when Ryou threw his head back with a shiver, he tucked his face into the curve of his neck to kiss him. Ryou tightened his arms around him, pressing with his hips to feel the beginnings of Malik’s erection against his own. As Malik felt them rub each other, he sighed and reached down to cup the bulge in Ryou’s shorts.

“Please, Malik,” Ryou whispered, pushing up into his hand.

Malik tugged his waistband down his thighs, then brought his hand back up, caressing Ryou’s balls before curling his fingers around the shaft. He wrapped his other arm around Ryou’s shoulders, holding him close to cover his neck and chest with kisses as he stroked Ryou’s penis, slowly at first, until he’d worked up enough fluid to slick his palm and set a more aggressive pace.

Ryou buried his face in Malik’s hair, already far too close to his climax. To distract himself, he reached for Malik’s dick, pressing his hand against the damp spot on the outside of his boxers. Malik moaned, so low and quiet that Ryou felt it more than heard it. He took his hand away from Ryou for a moment to help get himself out of his boxers; then they were gasping into each other’s mouths as their hips knocked together and their hands set an unsteady, frenzied pace.

Malik locked his leg behind Ryou’s knee and dragged them even closer to wrap his hand around both of their cocks, holding them together as he continued to stroke. Ryou gasped Malik’s name as he completed the circle with his own hand, said it again as he reached his orgasm and felt himself spilling over Malik’s fingers. Malik followed soon after, hot against Ryou’s palm.

They fell away from each other, lying on their backs as they caught their breath. After a moment Ryou felt Malik’s finger curl around his, and they fell asleep like that, delicately linked by a single joint.

 

 

The flight Ishizu booked for Malik left before dawn, so the evening before his departure, he said his formal goodbye to Ryou; he didn’t want to disturb him in the middle of the night, he claimed, when Ryou had to go to work the next day.

Ryou knew he wouldn’t be able to stand there and watch Malik shut their door for the last time, so he played along, hugging him goodbye before he went to bed and then spending most of the night awake in the dark, clutching the pillow that still smelled like Malik’s hair.

And in the morning, everything was normal, except that he was gone. Ryou brushed his teeth in the bathroom that no longer had Malik’s kohl on the counter or his towel in a damp heap behind the door. He made a single cup of tea in the kitchen, and sat at the table alone, and when it was time to go there was no one jostling beside him as he pulled on his shoes at the door. The spare key, no longer Malik’s, would hang there unneeded on its hook—

The spare key wasn’t there.

Ryou paused to savor a brief fantasy that he’d only imagined Malik going back to Egypt, that really he was just down at the coffee shop and would be back soon with a caramel latte. Then he sighed. Malik had just forgotten to leave the key behind.

He stared at nothing as he rode the subway to work, heard nothing as he shuffled through the morning, tasted nothing as he tried to swallow his lunch. A blank, stifling silence wrapped around him, disorienting and exhausting him.

An hour before the end of the workday, Ryou’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He took it out to see a text from Yugi— _sorry to bother you but I just heard from Ishizu Ishtar - Malik didn’t get on his flight?? ?? do you know what happened? i think his phone’s turned off. she’s worried, do you know where he is?_

Ryou’s throat tightened, and he struggled to type back a coherent message with trembling hands. _I don’t know why he didn’t get on his flight but I think I might know where he is. give me an hour or so and I’ll get back to you._

He grabbed his bag and blurted an apology to his boss—something’s come up, an emergency, sorry to leave early. Rush hour hadn’t started yet, and Ryou’s nerves tangled themselves in knots as he paced the platform, waiting an interminable seven minutes for the next train.

And then he was at his door, his keys in his hand, half-wishing that everything would end at this moment and he would be spared from ever knowing what was—or wasn’t—waiting for him inside.

Malik’s boots were by the door, and Ryou almost sobbed.

“Welcome home,” he heard Malik say quietly.

Ryou kicked off his shoes and dropped his bag to the floor and stumbled three steps into Malik’s open arms. He did cry, then; he kept himself silent but he knew his tears were making damp spots on Malik’s shirt, and felt his shoulders shuddering inside his embrace. Malik stroked his hair until Ryou calmed down enough to take a shaky breath and rub the tears off his face.

Malik offered him a sad smile. “I can’t do anything right, can I? Not even give up and run back home.”

“I want this to be your home,” Ryou said.

“I think maybe I do, too.”

Ryou wrapped his arms around Malik’s waist. “When did you figure that out?”

“I got as far as the airport,” Malik admitted. “I wasn’t really planning to do this but… I don’t know. Suddenly it was real, that I was about to get on that plane, and go back to Egypt, and I thought about how far away I would be from you. And I panicked.” Malik brushed a strand of hair off Ryou’s damp cheek. “I think… maybe I couldn’t…” He struggled for words, playing with Ryou’s hair as he tried to untangle his thoughts. Ryou waited silently, his eyes locked on Malik’s.

“I want to say that I didn’t realize until today how much I care about you,” Malik said carefully, “but that’s wrong. I already knew. And I think that’s part of what scared me, made me feel like I had to go. I’m not… I’m not any good at this.”

Ryou shook his head, but Malik wasn’t done talking.

“I know that I hurt you, over and over. And I can swear up and down that I won’t do it anymore but I’m weak, something’s wrong with me, I’ll probably do it again no matter how much I want to stop myself. And I got scared that you’d end up hating me, that I’d lose you… So I gave up. Because I’m a coward.”

“You’re not a coward,” Ryou said, leaning forward to kiss him. “And I would never hate you.” Another kiss. _I’ve been hurt worse than this_ , he wanted to say, but didn’t; instead he said, “Please don’t give up yet,” and kissed him again.

Malik tightened his arms around him, deepening the kiss, and only broke away to walk backwards to the couch and pull Ryou down beside him. Ryou was breathless with the urge to cry and laugh at the same time, and every nerve in his body tingled with the joy of touching Malik, the need to touch him further, to push up against him, become part of him and never let him leave.

A single thought managed to surface through the haze of relieved lust, and Ryou pulled back from Malik. “Your sister,” he said.

“Shit,” Malik breathed.

“You didn’t tell her anything, did you?”

Malik looked away. “She’s gonna kill me.”

“Yugi texted me earlier, asking if I knew where you were, because Ishizu found out you didn’t board the plane. You better turn your phone on and tell her what happened.”

Ryou climbed off Malik’s lap; Malik protested weakly but got up to dig his phone out of his backpack. While he made the call, Ryou retreated to the other side of the couch, watching him as if he might disappear if he turned his head. Malik’s voice started out sullen, and Ryou could hear Ishizu’s frantic questions crackling out of the speaker, but by the time their conversation ended, he seemed to have soothed his sister, at least temporarily.

Ryou pulled out his own phone to text Yugi: _Malik’s here, he’s fine. he talked to Ishizu. I’ll explain more later. but everything’s okay._ Then he put the phone on silent and pushed it across the coffee table and pounced on Malik to pick up where they had left off.

Malik slipped his hands under Ryou’s shirt, and his hands traveling up his waist and chest were enough to revive Ryou’s arousal. Ryou closed his eyes and let his head fall back, then pulled off his shirt to give Malik full access to his torso. He shook his hair out of his face to see Malik staring up at him, an unreadable look in his eyes.

Ryou realized he’d never been shirtless in front of him, never shown him his own scars. But he knew that he had seen this body before, and his eager joy flagged as he wondered if Malik was recalling its other inhabitant. Malik spread his fingers across the five scars on Ryou’s chest; then he looked up at Ryou with an urgent expression. “You are nothing like him,” Malik said, and pulled him down into a kiss.

Ryou’s erection grew firmer as the kiss went on, and he could feel Malik’s own as he straddled him. Ryou rocked his pelvis against him, making sure Malik could feel how much he wanted him, and Malik moaned softly into his mouth.

“Bedroom?” Ryou asked.

“Mhm."

Malik stripped off his shirt as he went, dropping it in the doorway. At the sight of those beautiful, terrible scars, Ryou threw his arms around Malik’s waist and pulled him back against him, moving his hair aside to kiss the curve of his neck. Malik’s head fell back as he leaned into Ryou, nudging his erection with his ass. Instinctively Ryou’s teeth bared and his kisses turned into a gentle nip; Malik murmured approvingly, reaching to slide his hand down Ryou’s thigh.

Ryou pulled away with an impatient huff to get out of his uncomfortably tight pants. Malik did the same, his movements slow and liquid, his eyes fixed on Ryou the whole time. He stood there for a moment, letting him stare, smiling a little as he watched Ryou struggle to look at something besides his cock tenting the fabric of his boxers.

Ryou had never felt so hungry, so desperate to feel someone’s body under his hands, and he surged against Malik again, shoving his fingers between waistband and skin. Malik helped him peel off his boxers, and tried to get Ryou’s own underwear off, but Ryou wouldn’t pause, bearing down on him with kisses and tiny bites until he was backed up against the bed. He savoured the spark of surprise in Malik’s expression as he pushed him down. Ryou hadn’t wanted to dominate Malik—wouldn’t have thought he could if he tried—but his urgency was making him aggressive, and Malik didn’t seem to have a problem with it.

Ryou climbed on top of him, probing his mouth with his tongue as he let his hand travel across the wonderfully firm skin of Malik’s chest and stomach. Part of Ryou could have gone on like this for hours, memorizing the planes of muscle and bone and the taste of his mouth and the low sounds coming from his throat; but another part of him was desperate to get farther than this, as soon as possible. When he felt Malik’s fingers pulling at his underwear again, he sat back to take it off, twisting awkwardly in his kneeling position. Malik paid no attention to Ryou’s clumsiness. His focus was solely on Ryou’s erection, and he wasted no time getting his fingers around it.

Ryou moaned, pushing himself into that touch. He braced himself on one hand and reached down to stroke Malik’s cock, hoping it was half as good as Malik was making him feel.

“Ryou…” Malik sighed. “I want you, I want you inside me.”

Ryou felt his dick twitch in Malik’s hand, but the rest of him went still. “I’ve never done this before,” he confessed. He couldn’t meet Malik’s eyes. Everything was hanging in the balance, now, the scales quivering as Ryou offered up himself against Malik’s memory of the spirit who’d used his body.

“That’s okay,” Malik said.

“But I want it to feel good for you."

He caressed Ryou’s cheek. “It will.”

Ryou dared to look at his face again. Malik was smiling a little, and there was nothing cruel in it; it was easy to believe that he saw no one but Ryou as he stared up at him.

“I want you, Ryou,” Malik repeated.

Relief melted through him, warming him to the tips of his fingers and toes. Ryou lowered himself for another kiss, letting their erections bump against each other. “Okay,” he breathed against Malik’s lips.

Malik twisted under him, looking in the direction of his bedside table. “Do you have something we can use as lube?”

“I have lube we can use as lube,” Ryou said, ducking his head to hide his blush as he scrambled off Malik to dig in the far back corner of the bottom drawer.

Ryou saw the curiosity in Malik’s face as he retrieved the bottle and resettled himself between his legs, but he just smiled shyly and shrugged. He squeezed the lube onto his fingertips, then hesitantly circled the edge of Malik’s hole. Malik inhaled sharply, raising his hips for Ryou.

Ryou bit his lip as he pushed a finger inside, concentrating on Malik’s breathing, on the crushing heat of the inside of his body, on the quiver that ran through his abdominal muscles as he pulled his finger most of the way out, then pushed it back in farther. “Yes,” Malik breathed.

He added a second finger, working Malik until he could twist his fingers together inside him, which earned him a loud moan.

“More?” Ryou asked.

“More.”

Malik winced at the third finger, but he was pushing himself onto him, so Ryou didn’t pause. It was harder to move his three fingers together, so he resumed caressing Malik’s penis with his other hand, wetting it with the fluid that seeped from the tip.

“Are you ready?” Ryou asked.

“Oh gods yes.”

Ryou withdrew his fingers to coat himself with more lube as Malik panted impatiently under him, taking his own cock in hand as he waited. He tugged Malik’s hips with slippery fingers, trying to find an angle that made sense, then held himself against his entrance.

Holding his breath, he pushed in.

The air rushed back out of him in a gasp as that hot pressure squeezed around him. He went slow, watching Malik’s face for encouragement; Malik’s brow was furrowed slightly, but his eyes showed only desire. Ryou slid back a little to thrust in further, and Malik moaned and whispered, “Oh, you feel good in me.”

“You feel good too,” Ryou murmured, responding with an ever deeper stroke. “So good.”

The sensation of Malik’s body clenched around him, moving with him, and the sight and the smell and the sound of him, threatened to overwhelm Ryou. He knew his climax wasn’t far off but they had barely started, he wanted to give Malik more than this, so he bit his lip and tried to steady himself.

He concentrated on finding a rhythm for his thrusts, and as he began to move faster, Malik bucked under him, demanding more of him, all of him. Malik seemed to be maneuvering, straining for something, and then they found it together when Malik responded to the next stroke with a cry of, “Oh fuck, yes, like that, like that…”

Watching Malik come undone for him was almost too much for Ryou. He felt impossibly hard, impossibly close as he pounded into Malik, determined to hit that place inside him again, and again, with all the force and insistency that Malik seemed to crave.

“Malik, I’m gonna…” he panted. “I’m coming.”

Malik had his hand on his own erection for Ryou’s last few thrusts, and as Ryou released inside him, he arched his neck and pumped himself to his own climax, bursting between his fingers onto his own stomach and Ryou’s.

Ryou tried to hold himself up on shaking arms as he rode out the aftershocks, his dick still pulsing inside Malik, but Malik reached for him and pulled him down. Ryou collapsed onto his chest, the sweat and semen slick between them and Malik’s breath warm on his neck.

After a while, Ryou found the strength to roll off of Malik, and they lay side by side, hand in hand, blinking at each other with silly, shy smiles. Ryou wanted to say something but he felt like all the words had been blown out of him; there was nothing his voice could add to what his body had already told Malik.

He wondered if Malik felt the same, as they shared their hazy silence, but after a while Malik tightened his fingers around Ryou’s and made a little purring noise in his throat. “My Ryou,” he said.

It was all he needed to hear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe not happily ever after, but they'll give it a try.


End file.
